


Some People Are Like Stray Cats

by Macaview



Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Its sort of dark in a not entirely sad way, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 21:18:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2747435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macaview/pseuds/Macaview
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Day Darry met Dally was a day he'd never forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some People Are Like Stray Cats

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy! Its written from Darry's POV if that's not clear, sorry!

When I first laid eyes on Dally Winston, he was 12 and I was 15.

He looked faded, his hair was a platinum white and his skin was pale as the sky before it snows. His clothes were tattered, bleached and stained and he was so thin you could see his spine through his shirt if you stared hard enough. This contracted violently with the red-burgundy blood that had dried on his forehead and under his nose. I thought he was dead, laying in the alleyway, curled up in a ball so no one could kick him again.

Me and Randy stood silently next to each other since we were the only ones brave enough to go poke around. A simple game of after school Friday football had turned sinister real fast. Nobody moved, we were all fixated on the shivering half-dead boy we had almost tripped over. I was the first to break the silence, which wasn’t all that unusual.

"Shouldn’t we help him? Ain’t that the Christian thing to do?" I took another little step forward, kneeling down a good 6 inches from the kid. I was good and scared, I had never seen someone so tore up in all my 15 years. I had lived a sheltered existence, free of violence. My parents weren’t all that rich and I lived in a not so good neighborhood, but I was a Soc and things always seemed to work out in the end for my kind.

"No," Richie Thomson, hiding behind Bob Sheldon, was the first to speak up. "I’ve seen him around, he’s a Greaser, a hood and a JD."

"I heard he sleeps at Buck Merrill’s sometimes and he pals around with Tim Shepard." Said some other disembodied voice.

"He robbed my brother!"

"Oh yeah, well, he tried to kiss my sister!"

"Just leave him here, Darry, he ain’t worth ruining your shirt for." Somebody grunted in a disgusted tone, like I was scraping a dead squirrel off a side walk and giving it a real proper-like burial (I did that once, they never really got over it) but this was a kid, a kid who was younger than Bob and beat up and bleeding. They were treating him like Roadkill. Everybody was a roar, but I didn’t care much. They had lost my respect for the time being.

I tuned them out, setting one hand on his shoulder the gentlest way I could. The boy visibly cringed, lifting his head up just a little and looking at me with stunningly blue eyes. He had my eyes, he had my very same eyes. It was horrifying. The whole left side of his head was a deep purple with splotches of black, purple and burgundy. His platinum hair was matted with dried blood and he looked wild, like he was going to claw the shit outta me at any second. Kind of like the cat I found a couple summers before. Smokey, her name had been. Just about the time I got to domesticating her and civilizing her and the like, somebody hit her with their car. Ponyboy cried, Sodapop cried and Dad dug her grave. He said we gave her a good like, a better life than she would have had out on the streets. She liked clawing and biting, but she could be a sweet cat when she wanted to. I vaguely wondered if some humans were like Smokey, maybe whoever this was was.

"You okay, pal? I’m sorry for waking you up and everything, but you’re bleeding and I thought you ju-" He cut me off promptly.

"Go….the hell on….." He said in an inhumanly gravely voice for a kid his age. It sounded like he hadn’t had a drop of water in days. And then he passed out cold.

"You heard him," Said Richie. "he doesn’t want your help. Just leave him and let’s get back to the game."

I shook my head and have them all a disgusted look that made them fall silent.

"What’s wrong with you? He’s bleeding real bad and be doesn’t even have a jacket? Do you know what it’s like to be cold and out here like this? No? I didn’t think so!" I growled, they all looked ashamed now. It wasn’t like I knew what it was like to be in his position, but I saw it more often than the other boys. I could….respect it a little more.

"Darry……I’ll help you carry him home if you want." Randy was the first to say something. I was glad when he did. It was nice to not be the only person who wasn’t a complete jerk.

"Fine. You get his legs." I said quickly, maneuvering my arms around the kid’s torso and holding him secure. I could probably carry him home alone, I was stronger than most but Randy’s company just seemed much more appealing. He shuffled over, collecting the kid up from his knees and with one simple moment, we were holding him.

The blonde boy groaned and I watched him pick his head up again and open one eye before shutting it like he trusted me not to throw him into a dumpster, if I had been Richie or Bob, I might have. But I wasn’t, I was Darry Curtis, a sympathetic sucker for any stray that came around.

The walk back to my house was a short and silent one, a Randy didn’t open his mouth once. He only talked when he was agreeing with people and adding onto jokes or about football. I made a couple observations about a couple different things and he just grunted.

One we got to my house, Randy seemed to be surprised by the way it looked. It was a small row house and 3 (practically four with that Steve kid who hung around.) boys lived there, but he still seemed to expect more out of it, even though he didn’t say anything.

I directed Randy to the couch and gently set down the kid. A metallic ping graced my ears and I looked down to see some dog tags, lying on the floor. I bent down to pick them up and mouthed the name to myself. Lance Winston.

Huh, was that the kids name? Unlikely, he was too young to be in the military. Maybe it was his dad or something.

I looked up to tell Randy and realized he was halfway out the door, I didn’t blame him, things were tense and he wasn’t used to this part of town. I grunted a goodbye and slipped the dog tags back in the kid’s pocket, they probably were special or something.

"Sodapop?" I turned around, scanning the room. He was gone, probably riding his bike or hanging around the store with Steve.

"Just me." Ponyboy replied from another room.

"Ponyboy, stay right there, where’s Dad?"

"Garage, why?"

"I kinda brought home another stray."


End file.
